


Wings of Victory

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe Hellenistic Religion & Lore, First Meetings, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Sculpture, Ἀθηνᾶ Παρθένος | Athena Parthenos (Hellenistic Religion & Lore)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10006325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Destruction brought expectations, and expectations had to be met. Yuuri was only taught the major gods while growing up. There wasn’t much to work on, and his canvas was simply too limited to continue. For the past three weeks, he sat at the shores of the island and looked out to sea, hoping to catch sight of something that could bring light. It didn’t have to be extraordinary, but it had to be something that nobody could tear their gaze from./gods and goddesses!AU/





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An idea I had for my Creating Writing project that I want to expand upon because ancient events like this intrigue me, okay

On the shores of the Greek island of Samothrace, there was a sculptor. Hands caked in sand and mud, rubbed raw from tangling thistles that grew in the coarse dirt, the sculptor rolled a dirt ball in his hand before watching the sphere slip between his fingers. Splattering into the murky depths of the shore, the sculptor eased himself out of the mud and washed his hands clean. Not a bird to offer shade, not a shell to trace while the hot sun baked the surroundings. The gods must’ve had it better than Man, the sculptor thought.

Coated in shields of gold and precious silk from the East, the gods had it all. Pantheons and temples, statues overlooking great cities, hustling armies to lead from sea to sea, and food and wine to last any mortal to death. A god surely must’ve had it better than a poor sculptor who couldn’t even consume fish. A poor choice since Samothrace was an island, but the sculptor managed somehow with wild grasses and sea birds as a nightly meal. Speaking of meal, the sculptor won’t have anything to eat for much longer if he kept staring out into the sea.

Civilization ran on currency, and not a spare coin could be found in the drabby cloths that enveloped the sculptor. At this point, he figured that his name should at least be uttered once. But even in the far off history that will seek to know his name, his name would never be found no matter how hard anyone cared to search. For story purposes, his name was Yuuri. Bred, clothed, fed, and watered from the very soil on Samothrace, Yuuri spent his youth and much of his adult life by the shores of the island.

Reflections in the water told great stories of the gods that he grew up hearing. A mighty tempest signaled the coming of Zeus and his chariot led by Apollo. The calm of the sea was Poseidon, who was carefully sharpening his blade to wage a battle in the depths of the Earth. The grains that grew along the sea were the fruit and labor of Demeter. Perhaps the most excited god in the family tree was Ares, and his passion for war and violence. The tide was changing in this small, quiet world that Yuuri knew all his life.

On the mainland, land conquest meant the difference on whether you obtained your daily ration of grain or not. In the foreign lands, stories of books and nobles and delicate art went from one border to another as skirmishes played out over Ares’ board game. Push the East and the West together. Send in the best armies. Send a flood of blood and tears as Mother Earth weeped for her fallen children. Turn the bodies over and hoist them back with their shield over their chest. Hack down a general and pull an arrow into a commander’s eye. Steal the women and children. Leave nobody behind.

Across the seas, ships left their ports with able young men saying goodbye to their families and loved ones. Young men promising to come back up, but coming back up with an arrow through the head or a slash across the chest. Most never came back. Thrown overboard into the sea for Poseidon to sweep as he gently laid the fallen back onto the shores of their villages and cities. Time was of the essence, and Yuuri needed to do something. Not just because he was a Greek. Not just because he felt great sorrow for wasted blood and talent. No.

The world needed a boost. This small, quiet world that Yuuri had known for twenty-three years was falling apart at the seams. The world needed a god or an equivalent to one to see through this darkness that has plagued every household from sea to shining to sea. The problem wasn’t with making something, but it was who to make it for? Surely, it was easy to make it for a great god that could bestow a bolt of lightning or a tidal wave or a blazing fire to vanquish an enemy. For Yuuri, there was so much more than just destruction.

Destruction brought expectations, and expectations had to be met. No. Any fighter or warrior didn’t need another reminder of a life that they were going to take. With that as an agenda, Yuuri was at a loss as to where to start. He was only taught the major gods while growing up. There wasn’t much to work on, and his canvas was simply too limited to continue. For the past three weeks, he sat at the shores of the island and looked out to sea, hoping to catch sight of something that could bring light. It didn’t have to be extraordinary, but it had to be something that nobody could tear their gaze from.

As a sculptor, that was a lifetime goal. As an individual, it was merely a personal dream that wouldn’t stop nagging until it was completed. But even so, Yuuri could’ve probably made a mud-sphere monument by now, judging by the littering dirt balls that surrounding him during the time period. There was nothing in the ocean. No birds, no fish, no drifting logs carrying plants. Simply nothing. Even Yuuri’s mind couldn’t think of something. The cliched idea of a warrior holding his sword up to Zeus came to mind, but it was too much of a reminder of the faults of humankind. It wouldn’t provide motivation, at least to Yuuri’s eyes.

His hair had gotten longer. His nails looked more like deformed claws because of the mud and salt water. Yuuri glowed a sandy gold under that baking sun, and thirst was upon him. He had to leave, but he checked to see if there was anything for inspiration. Even a crab scuttling across the sand was something. Alas, there was nothing and Yuuri retired to his home to freshen before returning later that afternoon. Gray clouds had begun to roll in, and the island of Samothrace felt its first sigh of relief in weeks.

A local town boy splashed in the water, collecting shells and dunking his fine golden hair below the water. It was an amusing sight for Yuuri since he knew the lad, but it wasn’t the sight Yuuri was looking for. Even so, he called out to the town boy and asked if he wanted to collect shells together.

Sticking out his tongue, he replied, “As long as I’m Prince of the Sea, nothing you say can faze me!”

“Hold your tongue, Yurio, and let me help with your collection,” Yuuri sighed. Smiling under his breath, Yuuri rested his chin on his fists as he watched Yurio dunk down and rise up with new shells between his teeth. The boy must’ve been...what now? Fifteen? Yurio wasn’t a child anymore, but he often had the tongue of one if he was particularly snippy. His golden bangs hovered over his olive green eyes, and he looked like a god in mortal form. Hair like Yurio’s was exceedingly rare, and fresh Spring eyes were thought to only belong to Demeter and her daughter, Persephone. But here Yurio was, sprawled over the salty sea like a wild lily pad as his god-like features lit the surface of the water.

Yuuri shook his head. _Focus._ Pitter patter of raindrops fell over Yuuri’s head. Darkening clouds meant a brewing storm. An island wasn’t safe from a storm, just like how a warrior wasn’t safe from a spear-head aimed for his heart. The waters grew rough and choppy. Yuuri danced on his heels, trying to find Yurio. He swore he saw the lad frolicking in the water just earlier. Rain bulleted Yuuri’s flesh as he dove into the water, kicking his legs to stay above the surface as he called out for Yurio.

The crashing waves kept knocking him down. Each resurface clogged more water down Yuuri’s throat. He squinted over the looming waves, batting his hands and arms to stay afloat. A mop of golden hair peeked over the water’s edge, and Yuuri battled against Poseidon's army to reach Yurio. The youth sunk lower and lower under the waves. His hand just a grasp away from Yuuri’s fingers. Holding his breath, Yuuri drunk down and reached out to the unconscious youth. Just a hand-length away.

The trampling currents and beating waves didn’t relinquish their hold on Yurio and Yuuri. When Yuuri thought he could grab the youth, the currents swept Yurio away. When Yuuri was down to his last breath of air, the tormenting sea refused to let his head surface. Yuuri clawed at his throat, limbs thrashing all about as his lungs screamed for air. Bubbles issued out of his mouth and nostrils. His lungs were weighed down with the salty sea while darkness cloaked his eyes.

Limbs grew cold as Yuuri drifted farther and farther away from the light. Something bumped into his side. It was Yurio. The youth felt warm. Yuuri held Yurio’s hand. Yurio was still warm. His heart was still alive, deep in its core. Channeling himself and Yurio upwards, Yuuri felt his Life String stretched out upon two fingers while a sister muse prepared her clippers to snip at his last line. Little too late for that. Both Yuuri and Yurio broke into the surface, and the former threw up ocean water while clinging onto the unconscious youth.

They were alive, but just barely. The storm had them in its grasp. Pounding waves threatened to knock them both back down into the murky depths, but Yuuri fought as hard as he could as he tried to make it back to shore. When all hope seemed to be lost, Yuuri saw the light he had been waiting for. Shot from the Heavens was a piercing stab of light that enveloped Yuuri, Yurio, and the waters around them. Immediately, the sea was silenced. The winds were held back. The clouds opened up as a flutter of wings descended from Zeus’ domain.

Angelic wings spread out like a mighty bird as a flowing robe flourished over the figure with Zeus’ tempest coursing through their veins. Blinded by the ethereal light, Yuuri was forced to look away but he could make out the untamed hair of the winged individual as she commanded the storm to cease and bother elsewhere. Yuuri didn’t hear a voice, but he felt a warm sensation hug him as he made it back to shore with Yurio on tow. The piercing light from Heaven was too bright for Yuuri’s mortal eyes, but he knew that he was in the presence of a god. But who?

Was the god watching him? Yuuri bowed his head low before urging Yurio to wake up. He pressed the youth’s chest firmly and rubbed Yurio’s face until the child coughed up water and opened his eyes slowly.

 _“Nike.”_ That was the name that crawled out from Yurio’s lips before he rolled over in exhaustion.

“What?” Yuuri shook Yurio, trying to wake him up again. Yurio batted a hand and rolled over again. The Heaven’s light faded away as the sun took its place instead. The menacing clouds disappeared and so did the winged figure that saved Yuuri and Yurio’s lives.

From that day worth, Yuuri dedicated the remainder of his life to recreate the benevolent being that calmed a storm to spare two mortal lives. Okay, it took Yuuri seven months to complete the statue. Everything he needed could be found on the island. From marble to the sophisticated rocks that he found during morning walks along the sand, Yuuri crafted a representation for the gentle soul that shared mercy over him and Yurio. Every day since the incident, Yurio has come to the beach more often to watch Yuuri work.

To see a usually slow sculptor suddenly transform into this busy individual was a curious sight. Yurio kept his distance and eventually got bored of spying on Yuuri from dawn to dusk, but he always visited the beach to deliver some food and water for the reckless sculptor. Day and night if he could, Yuuri toiled away at his statue creation until one day, it stood taller than him and overlooked the very same shore where he managed to catch a closer glimpse at the winged figure from Heaven.

Yurio had called the persona _Nike,_ for it looked like the Goddess of Victory. Or at least, the description seemed to match what Yurio’s grandfather had told him when he was growing up. Yuuri liked the name. Victory didn’t have to mean the winnings and spoils after a long battle. It meant returning home to kiss and embrace loved ones. It meant returning to a home that you had known all your life. It meant seeing another day in such a short life. It meaning seeing another light in a distance, whether it was the setting or the rising of the sun as Apollo’s chariot coursed through the sky.

Stepping back from his statue of _Nike,_ Yuuri rubbed his caked hands. The figure stood strong over the horizon of the setting sun. The wings adorned along the back made the statue appear as if it was floating in the faded golden rays of the sun, coming down to bequeath a wreath of victory. Yuuri captured the flow of the figure’s gown when he first saw the figure that fateful day in the heart of a storm. Other than the general shape and the wings, Yuuri didn’t know much else about his savior. He noticed their hair, but it was terribly tricky trying to imitate hair with marble and stone. The best he could do was stand back and admire a seven months' worth of work.

What was that? A feather? Reaching for his hair, Yuuri plucked a fallen feather. It was an elegant thing, something he had never seen before on the island. Someone cleared their throat. Yuuri froze. Perched over his statue with their hair tickling Yuuri’s forehead was _Nike._


End file.
